


Au début des choses

by sassy_cissa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Healer Draco Malfoy, M/M, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_cissa/pseuds/sassy_cissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apprentice Healer Malfoy has enough on his plate with egotistical supervisors. He really doesn't need Harry Potter as his patient. Really, he doesn't.<br/>This is a remix… well more of a prequel to digthewriter's <i>When I compliment you, I compliment myself</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Au début des choses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [digthewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [When I compliment you, I compliment myself](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4756706) by [digthewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/pseuds/digthewriter). 



> Darling, darling dig. I was so excited to be able to remix something of yours. I decided on your request for a backstory to _When I compliment you, I compliment myself_. I'm not certain this qualifies as a "nice, long" backstory – but I hope you enjoy it all the same. 
> 
> I would be remiss if I didn't thank my darling O for everything she did to make this story better in every way. ♥ And to I for the last minute read through. I've probably diddled with it, so any mistakes are my own. Roughly translated the title means: At the Start of Things.

Draco leaned heavily against the wall near the lifts at St Mungo's. He had exactly one hour of break-time and intended to spend it face down on a cot in the Apprentice Healer's Lounge. Scrubbing at his face with his hands he wondered, not for the first time in the last eighteen months, what had possessed him to train as a Healer. But he knew. All he had to do was to think back on the year that the Manor was _bat-shite insanity_ headquarters and of the torture that had occurred. He'd spent most days, when he wasn't in his rooms hoping no one would miss him, scouring over tomes he'd nicked from the library about healing. Which, he had to admit, had come in dead handy for healing the wounds he'd received at the end of that nutter's wand.

"Merlin," he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, "enough wool–gathering. I need sleep." 

And as if by _magic_ , the lift finally appeared. He clambered inside and pressed the button for the fifth floor, thankful no one else was inside. The ride seemed interminably long and Draco sighed happily when it shuddered to a stop at its destination.

He practically fell through the door to the Apprentice Healer's Lounge, stumbling forward and falling face first onto the nearest cot. 

"Merlin's balls," he muttered into the scratchy pillowslip. "I swear if one more child puts something up his nose, I'm simply going to hex the fucking thing off his face."

"I swear if you don't shut the hell up, I'm going to hex your mouth shut," came an equally exhausted and muffled reply from a few cots over.

Draco summoned his last bit of strength, or at least it felt like that, and turned his head toward the sound.

"Patil," he mumbled, too knackered to bother with an insult. He received a grunt in reply. 

As a third-year Apprentice Healer, Draco was quite used to going without sleep and grabbing a few moments rest whenever possible. But this rotation on the emergency ward had just about done him in. Between the children with no impulse control and the adult victims of their own stupidity, his last thought as he drifted off was how much he was looking forward to a nice, calm rotation on the Janus Thickey Ward curling Lockhart's hair.

oooOOOooo

The old house in the field had seen better days. The porch roof was listing and the shutters were falling off of the window to the left of the door. The window to the right was covered with boards and the yard was overgrown with weeds. Even the chimney seemed to be leaning dangerously, held in place by a dead tangle of vines. There was a barn behind in no better shape than the house, and in the dim, misty hour just before dawn the low lying ground fog gave the whole thing the appearance of a set for a horror film. At least it was the only dwelling in sight; if this was the place, there wouldn't be anywhere for the bastards to hide.

Harry Potter ducked down behind a rise in the ground, gesturing for his team to come forward and join him but to stay low.

"See anything?" Ron Weasley whispered, staring through the mist toward the house.

"Not yet," Harry answered. He turned away from the house and did a scan with his wand, shielding the three small featureless figures that appeared between him and Ron with his body.

"Looks like they're asleep," Ron said, studying the three flickering shapes. They did appear to be reclining. 

"Okay, let's split into groups," Harry said to the group hunkered down around him, voice low. "Cho, go around to the left and get closer to the barn. If there are more suspects there, send a signal to my wand. Weaver and Banks, you go with her. Steadman and Barnaby, you go to the right and wait for my signal. Wait," he reiterated. "Understand?" The two young men, all wide eyes and pale faces, nodded nervously. "All right, go. And stay beneath the rise."

The five Aurors moved out, hunched close to the ground, the gray robes over their red and black uniforms blending into the fog. He and Ron watched anxiously until they couldn't see their colleagues any longer, and then they waited for Cho's signal. It took several long, anxious minutes but finally Harry's wand vibrated in his hand six times. 

"Nine total," he told Ron. He sent back the signal for the other Aurors to hold their position. 

"I don't like this." Ron studied the house. "The visibility is lousy, and we're outnumbered. Two of ours are as green as they come. Maybe we should send for re-enforcements."

"We can do this," Harry countered. "They're all asleep. We won't get a better chance. You and I can take the house, Cho can take the barn and we can bring the newbies in for clean-up. This tip is the first real lead we've had in months."

Ron rubbed his jaw. "I don't know, Harry…"

"Come on, Ron. We can do this if we just –" Harry's words were cut off when two flashes of red light lit up the field to the right of the house and a pained scream echoed across the barren landscape. Moments later the front door of the house burst outward, three men with wands in their hands storming out into the gloom.

"Son of a bitch," Ron snarled. "They're onto us. Harry, wait! There must be more we don't know about!"

Harry dove over the rise, rolling before gaining his feet and shooting a stunner toward the man in the lead. He heard Ron curse colourfully behind him as the man collapsed without a sound. Harry put his head down and ran toward where he'd heard the cry, the idea of losing one of his team sending terror roaring through him. The sound of his own racing heart and his pounding feet, and the explosions ahead of him drowned out all other sounds. Flashes lit up the gloom. Someone was returning fire, which meant they couldn't both be down. He never should have sent them out alone, he thought. They were only two months out of the Academy, and if anything happened to them, he'd never forgive himself. 

Searing pain tore into the flesh of his right bicep, but he kept going, gaining ground with each step. He could see Steadman and Barnaby now, pinned down by four assailants who seemed to have materialized out of the fog. Steadman was returning fire but Barnaby was lying frighteningly still on the ground. 

Harry made an inarticulate sound of rage, flinging stunners, streams of red light jetting from his wand as he nimbly navigated the uneven ground. He'd dropped three of the men pinning down the recruits in quick succession and Steadman, bless him, managed to take out the fourth. Harry turned to help Ron when the curse hit him and his head snapped back, pain shooting the length of his spine.

The world had gone black before he hit the ground.

oooOOOooo

The door to the Apprentice Healer's Lounge bounced off of the wall with a bang.

"Up and at it, chickens!" a cheerful voice shouted. "Trauma coming in, multiple victims."

Draco had sat bolt upright when the door careened off of the wall and he staggered to his feet, rubbing his hands over his face. 

"Gods," he groaned, knuckling his eyes. How long had been out? An hour? A minute? He honestly couldn't tell. He still felt as if he'd been dragged along Diagon Alley behind a hippogriff.

"You, Malfoy."

Draco turned, searching out the voice. Head Mediwitch Mavis Barnstable stood inside the door. She was gesturing to him imperiously. "Healer Whylerston wants you with him."

Draco managed, just, not to groan aloud. Whylerston was brilliant, but he was also obnoxious and dictatorial, a petty tyrant in a universe where he was king and everyone else was there to serve him. And he was the only magical trauma surgeon at St. Mungo's. There was another one in America, and one in South America. That was it. Surgery was a relatively new field in the wizarding world, borne of the many traumatic injuries sustained during the war. Draco had watched the results of those injuries and very much wanted to learn how to treat them, but if that's what he wanted it meant toeing the line for Whylerston.

"Snap to, boy," Mavis said, not unkindly. "The wounded are hitting the doors as we speak, and Whylerston isn't known for his patience."

"Whylerston is a troll," Patil grumbled, securing her waist length hair at her nape. 

"That he may be," Mavis said reasonably. "He's also the best. So move it, Healer Malfoy, or he'll request someone else."

That got Draco moving. Whylerston knew he was the only trainee who wanted to specialize in magical surgery, but he'd as soon ask someone else to assist just be an arse. Draco took a deep breath and plunged out of the lounge and over to the lift, Padma at his heels. He gave silent thanks to Merlin when the doors immediately opened and the car slid smoothly down to Casuality. He pushed through the doors as they opened and stepped into chaos.

Casualty was in an uproar. Draco knew he'd not taken that much time to arrive, and yet staging was already spilling into triage. He picked up his pace, still blinking exhaustion from his eyes, looking for Whylerston's distinctive cobalt blue robes. He was the only member of the staff who had attained the colour of the Master Healer; the other Healers wore lime green, the mediwitches yellow, the trainees something they called chartreuse, but was, in reality, more the colour of baby poop. As Draco moved down the hall litters bearing two patients wearing the red and black robes of the Aurors floated by accompanied by medical staff, numbers displaying the patients vital statistics hovering above them. One of them was conscious and answering questions, but the other wasn't. He caught sight of Cho Chang speaking to a healer at the entrance to the ward, and another litter floated by. Draco jerked to a startled halt when he saw a patient with a full head of ginger hair. 

Ron Weasley was conscious, and vocal.

"I'm fine," he was arguing. 

"Auror Weasley, your ankle is severely injured. It may be broken." The mediwitch at his side argued. "You cannot get off of the litter."

"I need to know where Harry is," he shouted, his face nearly as red as his hair. Draco felt a jolt go through him from his head to his toes. 

It wasn't like it was the first time Aurors came through the doors, particularly recently. He knew there was a dangerous new gang of young wizards making and distributing a potion called Rapture. It caused hallucinations and euphoria. It could also be fatal in excessive amounts. The problem was no one seemed to know exactly how much that was. The toxicologists in St Mungo's potions lab were working on it, but Draco knew they hadn't had any success yet. Two seventh years at Hogwarts and one from Durmstrang had already died from overdoses, and everyone feared it was only a matter of time before it began to filter down to the younger kids. The increasing run-ins between the gang and the Aurors accounted for nearly half of the injuries coming into Casualty. But Potter – Draco had been on the ward for a month and had seen members of the hot-shot Auror's squad, but not the man himself. Apparently, he was in this pandemonium somewhere. 

"Malfoy!" Draco looked into Weasley's desperate face as his litter floated past. "Malfoy, find Harry. I have to find Harry. He was hit in the head and went down, and I haven't seen him since."

"Auror Weasley, please," the mediwitch said, trying to push the man back down into a prone position. Ron shoved her hands away.

"Let off," he snarled, then turned his head and looked back for Draco. "Find Harry for me, Malfoy," he said, blue eyes wide with entreaty. "Please."

"I'll see what I can do," Draco promised, startled by the words even as they came out of his mouth.

With that Weasley flopped down onto his back, and Draco began to push his way through the crowd again. Finally he heard Whylerston's voice bellowing over the din.

"Where is my apprentice??!!" 

Draco sped up the pace, knowing he should have realized the egomaniac would be in Trauma One, reserved for the most serious cases. He approached the first room to the left just inside of the ward's doors and paused in the doorway, unable to go any further.

The room was crawling with staff, mediwitches and Healers, Whylerston standing at the head of the table directing traffic. There was a man lying face down on an exam table, head turned away but Draco didn't have to see his face to know who he was; his black hair was a mess of cowlicks and curls, even matted with blood from what looked like a serious wound on his crown. 

A mediwitch was cutting away Potter's robes, leaving him in just black slacks and heavy, mud spattered boots. His back was beautiful, Draco thought, roped with muscle even when he was doing nothing more than lying there. The mediwitch made a small, alarmed sound as she eased the sleeve from his left arm, revealing a horrible wound from just above Potter's elbow to his shoulder. It wasn't bleeding much but it was gaping, a deep slice into the muscles of his arm revealing bone. Treated incorrectly, it would limit his mobility. That along with Potter's fame, and it wasn't hard for Draco to figure out why Potter was on Whylerston's table.

"There you are," the man shouted. He never spoke in a regular tone when he could yell. "You nearly missed this opportunity, Malfoy. I was about to send for Patil."

It was a lie and they both knew it. Padma was going to specialize in paediatrics, even though she was on her Casualty rotation, too. Rather than respond, Draco pushed an orderly gently out of his way and went to the sink in the corner, scrubbing his hands with ruthless efficiency. One of the star struck mediwitches helped him to pull on gloves when he was done, and then Draco moved to stand next to the surgeon.

"What we have here, young Malfoy," Whylerston said in his booming, infuriating voice, "is a very famous Auror with two significant injuries. Which one is the more serious of the two?"

Draco leaned forward and looked at the gash on Potter's head, trying not to notice the fine features, the dark brows and the black lashes that lay fanned on his pale cheeks. There was a smudge of blood on his sharp cheekbone and another on his square jaw. 

"Make yourself useful," he murmured to the hovering young witch, "and clean his face, will you please?" She coloured and went to the sink to dampen a flannel. He leaned further forward, studying the gash on Potter's head then looking at the one bisecting his upper arm. "I believe," he began cautiously, "that the wound on his arm has interfered with a major artery and muscles that could impair his functionality. While the one on his head is ugly, but appears to be superficial."

Whylerston gave him a narrow-eyed look. "Well, it appears that you have been paying attention. Head injuries are often tricky, and this one is deep enough that there may be neurological implications. However, if the muscles and nerves in that arm are not repaired correctly, our famous Auror may just see the end of his career. Fortunate for him I'm at the ready."

"Yes, Master Healer." Draco managed not to roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. The man was an arse. "Shall I begin on the head, then?"

"Yes, but if you run into difficulty you must stop immediately."

Draco nodded, moving to Potter's head as Whylerston leaned further forward, holding out his hand to his personal surgical assistant. She slapped a short, gleaming wand into his palm. Draco diverted his attention from the skilled motions of the man's hands to a detailed study of the wound in Potter's head. 

"Have they anesthetized him?" he murmured to the young mediwitch who was gently dabbing at Potter's face.

She looked up at Draco, eyes wide. She glanced at Whylerston, then nodded once. 

"Good." Draco cast a numbing charm on the area, anyway. Closing a head wound wasn't difficult, but he needed to assess any skull damage first. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Whylerston begin. Reattaching arteries and muscle could be a tedious, painful business and for just a moment Draco was grateful he wasn't the one holding Potter's future in his hands. Whylerston cast a spell, this one lifting the muscular arm until it was at a ninety degree angle to his body and hovered there. That was when he noticed Potter's forearm; it was well formed and tan, a light sprinkling of dark hair across the surface, and Draco had to drag his eyes away. He had such a thing for a man's strong forearms, but now wasn't the time to indulge it. He had a head wound to evaluate and close. 

"Have you assisted in surgery before?" he asked the girl.

"Yes, Healer," she said, sounding slightly startled.

"Good, get more sterile pads and wipe the blood so I can see what I'm doing."

She nodded, eyes shining. "Yes, Healer."

Draco would be lying if he said he didn't like the sound of that.

oooOOOooo

Several hours passed before Draco was able to take a break. He'd sent a mediwitch to let Weasley know that Potter was in surgery and would be there for some time, but none of his injuries were life threatening. 

Exhaustion seeped out of his pores, but Draco managed to stop leaning against the nurse's station when he heard the unmistakable footfalls of Healer Whylerston coming down the hall. Draco was pleased to see that Whylerston looked nearly as exhausted as Draco felt. 

Healer Whylerston cleared his throat, face pinched as if he had eaten something sour. "Good work on that head wound, _Apprentice Healer_ Malfoy." Draco forced himself not to roll his eyes, thinking that Whylerston must be part bat if he heard that nurse refer to him as Healer over all the machines in the operatory. 

"Thank you, sir," he replied, forcing a grateful tone to his words. "It's always an honour to work with you."

"Of course it is," Whylerston replied in his usual overbearing manner. "Auror Potter is still in a stasis induced sleep. He will remain that way for the next eighteen to twenty-four hours in order for that arm to heal without issue. I've left instructions with his nurse to contact you in the lounge if there are any changes to his condition."

Draco's brow furrowed in confusion. "Me?"

Whylerston glared. "Must I spell it out for you, Malfoy?" He huffed expansively and slammed the chart he'd been holding onto the desk. "I'm putting you in charge of Potter's case from here forward. You're to go to the lounge and get some sleep before you fall over and are of no use to anyone. As lead on Potter's recovery, you'll need to stay on premises until such time as I return tomorrow to remove the stasis spell."

"You're putting me in charge?" Draco was dumbfounded. He knew he'd performed well in operatory, but lead? Whylerston never turned over his high-profile cases to an Apprentice.

"Do not make me regret this decision, Malfoy." Whylerston closed his eyes for the briefest moment, as if in pain, before continuing. "Your abilities have not gone unnoticed, nor is your desire to specialize in Magical Surgery a secret. If you don't feel you're ready…"

"Oh no, sir," Draco hastily interrupted his superior. "I'm ready." 

"Good," Whylerston replied, turning to go. "The head nurse knows how to reach me, but for your sake she'd best not. I'll be back tomorrow. Get some sleep Malfoy, then get your arse down here and monitor Potter. I want you here when I remove the stasis."

oooOOOooo

When Draco woke from his nap, he was more than just a little disoriented. He'd done as Whylerston instructed and slept for about three hours, then done another twelve on the floor, including monitoring Potter, who remained stable. The worst of the casualties had been dealt with by the time he came back to the lounge for another few hours of sleep. He'd set his wand to wake him, and he silenced the buzzing before moving to sit on the edge of the cot. He ran his hand through his hair and thought about what had happened the night before, not altogether sure he hadn't dreamt it. 

"Did Whylerston really make me lead on Potter's case?" he mused aloud. 

"Merlin, Malfoy," muttered a muffled voice from a cot across the room. "Rub it in that you're suddenly the arsehole's darling."

Draco straightened and saw Padma, face down on a cot, squinting at him in the dim light. 

"Sorry, Patil," Draco replied meaning it, "I figured everyone had gone off shift. Didn't know anyone else was still stuck here."

Padma sat up and glared. "Some of us didn't go off shift until about an hour ago and were too fucking knackered to head home." 

Draco stood and moved to his locker, one hand going through his hair. "Sorry, go back to sleep. I need to shower and find clean robes and get downstairs before Whylerston shows up and has my guts for garters."

"Charming." Padma rubbed her eyes as she stood. "I imagine I can Apparate home now without Splinching myself." She walked past Draco, bumping him playfully with her shoulder. "Seriously, though, good work on being lead. Now don't fuck it up by fighting with Potter."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Draco called as she left the lounge. Although he did wonder if he and Potter would be able to avoid drawing wands before he was recovered.

Once showered and in clean robes Draco left the lounge and grabbed a quick cup of tea and a scone on his way past the Visitor's Tearoom. He'd barely finished it when the lift shuddered at the first floor. He rushed to the nurses' station, stopping at the counter where a woman in yellow robes stood. 

"Is Whylerston here?" he whispered breathlessly.

She laughed and shook her head. "Do you honestly think you wouldn't have heard him bellowing like a banshee if he arrived before you?"

Draco gave her a weary smile. "Then I imagine I'd better check on my patient and get his vitals updated to avoid any bellowing." He took the chart she was already offering. 

"Good luck, Healer Malfoy," she lowered her voice and continued. "He'll bellow regardless. And he's going to try to throw you off. It's his way. But I've heard him say he's impressed with you, so don't let his bark affect you."

Draco felt colour rising on his cheeks. "Thank you, Nurse…" He paused, glancing for a nametag. 

"Nurse Kinsey," she supplied and held out her free hand. Draco took it in his to shake. 

"Well, it's good to meet you, Nurse Kinsey, and I appreciate the advice. Now I'd better move along or neither of us will enjoy the rest of our day."

Draco walked down the hall to Potter's room with a bit of a spring in his step. For what it was worth, it was good to know he had at least two people on his side.

Stepping inside Potter's room, Draco took a moment to observe the man. He lay on his back with several tubes and lines running from his body to the elaborate system on the wall behind the headboard. He was very pale, looking even more so compared to the shock of black hair, but that wasn't uncommon after a patient had suffered a significant loss of blood. Draco made a note to increase his blood replenishing potions, then stepped up to the bed and compared the last set of readings in Potter's chart to the ones that flashed on the wall. He pursed his lips. Potter's blood pressure was also down, but his breathing appeared to be a bit rapid. Draco wondered if Potter's magic was unwittingly attempting to fight the spells and allow him to regain consciousness. Instinctively, Draco put his hand over Potter's in a comforting gesture and leaned forward. 

"Easy, Harry," he murmured, even though his first name felt odd on his lips. "You're all right. You don't need to fight. You're all right."

Draco watched and within a few moments, Potter's breathing slowed back to a steady sleep-cycle rhythm. 

A noise behind him had Draco turning towards the door. Healer Whylerston stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his barrel chest, observing Draco.

"Apprentice," Healer Whylerston said by way of greeting. Draco was surprised when for the first time in his memory, the blowhard lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "What's the patient's status?"

Draco ran through the statistics from overnight and then reported his findings this morning. 

Whylerston nodded and moved towards the bed. He carefully removed one of the tubes from Potter's hand and waited for any sign of change. When none came, he spoke. "I'm going to remove the patient from the stasis spell now. I'll ask the standard questions and then you can take over once I'm satisfied that Auror Potter is stable." 

Whylerston gave Draco a side-long glance. "Understood, sir," Draco replied to the prompting, keeping the _officious prick_ thought to himself. 

Arranging himself at Potter's side, Whylerston began a slow chant combined with a complicated wand movement. Draco watched carefully, unable to deny that he was impressed. The man might be an arse, but his wand movements were like watching an intricate, graceful dance. Slowly Potter's eyes began to move beneath his thin eyelids. He finally blinked his eyes open, wincing at the bright light. 

"Lights down ten percent," Draco said without thinking. Whylerston looked taken aback, but nodded in approval.

"Welcome back, Auror Potter," Whylerston began, leaning over him. Draco couldn't take his gaze off his eyes, so green without the lenses in front of them. "Your injuries were quite severe, but luckily for you I was on call last night, so there should be no loss of movement in that arm. Apprentice Healer Malfoy took care of your head injury, however, so I must ask some questions to ascertain if there is any lingering damage."

Draco bit his lip to school his features so that he didn't react. Of course the bastard would make it sound as if the only question was _his_ skill. He remembered what Nurse Kinsey told him, about Whylerston pushing him, baiting him. He lifted his chin. 

"Do you believe your efforts on Auror Potter's head wound have been adequate, Apprentice Healer?" Whylerston asked, eyeing him speculatively. 

"More than adequate, Master Healer," he replied. Whylerston smirked.

"We shall see, shan't we?" 

Potter watched the interplay between the two men by his bed, a single crease between his eyebrows. Whylerston lifted his wand, holding it over Potter's face. He watched it warily.

"Auror Potter, what day is it?" the Healer asked, moving the wand from left to right.

Potter's frown deepened, even as his eyes followed the wand. "How long have I been out?" His voice sounded hoarse and rough. He cleared his throat.

"And what has that to do with the day?" Whylerston asked, now moving his wand up and down.

"The raid was on Wednesday," Potter answered, sounding more himself. And faintly annoyed. "I can't tell you what day it is without knowing how long I've been asleep."

"Reasoning and comprehension seem to be undamaged," Whylerston said, smirk deepening. "You've been unconscious for approximately eighteen hours."

"It's Thursday, then," Potter murmured, wincing when Whylerston muttered ' _Lumos_ ' and the tip of his wand lit. He moved it in a circle, carefully watching Potter's pupils as they shrank when the light moved closer. 

"Who is Minister for Magic?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, unless there's been a coup overnight that I don't know about."

"Can you roll your head from left to right?"

Draco watched carefully as Potter slowly rolled his head on the pillow. He grimaced when it came to rest again at center.

"That causes pain?" Whylerston asked sharply. Potter reached up and batted the lit wand from in front of his face.

"The only thing causing me pain is that ruddy light in my eyes," he snarled. It was a true test of Draco's self-control when he managed, just, not to laugh. It amused the hell out of Draco that the Healer had come up against one of very few people he didn't dare bully.

Whylerston visibly swallowed the flash of annoyance that moved across his features. "He seems fine," he said curtly. "I'll leave the monitoring of his continued care to you, Malfoy. He needs to remain under the concussion protocol for at least another forty-eight hours, and he should begin physical therapy for his arm tomorrow morning with a continuation once he's released. I will inform the Minister that I wouldn't advise his return to work for at least a week." He looked down at Potter. "You have friends in high places, Auror Potter. I've had at least three Floo calls from the Minister's office since you were admitted."

"Kingsley worries like an old woman," Potter muttered, closing his eyes. Whylerston blinked. 

"Well, my work here is done," he said, slipping his wand into his sleeve. "Call for me immediately if you see any indication of trouble. I'm counting on you to behave professionally, Healer." He eyed Draco speculatively. "Don't disappoint me."

Draco felt his face heat as he watched Whylerston turn and stride from the room, his robes flapping behind him. He was barely through the door when he bellowed "Kinsey, rounds!"

Clearly, someone had told Whylerston that there was a backstory between him and Potter, and Draco closed his eyes for a moment, fighting for composure. 

"Merlin, is he always so fucking loud?"

Draco opened his eyes and looked down to find Potter appearing pained. "Do you need a potion for pain?"

"I needed that blowhard not to shine a light in my eyes." Potter lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his head, right at the base of his skull. "I have a headache."

"Not surprising. Lights down another ten percent." The light dimmed further and Draco went to a cupboard recessed in the wall, unlocking it with a complicated, secured spell. He withdrew a mild pain potion from the row of vials, locking the door again when he was done.

He crossed back to the bed. "This is pretty mild, I'm afraid," he said apologetically. "I can't give you anything stronger until you've been cleared of the concussion protocol. And I'm afraid someone will be waking you every few hours for the next day."

"Yeah, I've been through this drill before." 

Draco helped Potter lift his head and held the vial to his lips. When Potter lifted his hand and wrapped his fingers around Draco's wrist, Draco fought the shiver that slipped down his spine. Gods, Potter had strong, beautiful forearms. 

When he'd downed the potion Draco Vanished the empty vial. "I'll be back to check on you in a bit…" he began.

"Oh God, wait," Potter gasped, his eyes suddenly opening wide. "My team." He grabbed Draco's hand hard. "What happened to my team? We were under fire, ambushed, Barnaby was down…"

His breathing was growing rapid and the numbers at the head of the bed began to dart into dangerous territory, bells sounding softly. Draco leaned close, turning his hand to grasp Potter's fingers, returning the pressure of the desperately clinging fingers. 

"It is my understanding that no one from the Ministry suffered critical injuries but you, Potter," Draco said quickly. "Everyone else was treated and released. Weasley has been haunting this ward all night. He had a serious sprain to his left ankle, but has been healed and was released within hours of your arrival. I'll check again, but I believe the rest of your team is fine, and all have gone home."

Potter exhaled slowly, his eyes closing in relief. "Thank Merlin," he murmured. He was still gripping Draco's hand, and for just a moment, Draco left his hand in his grasp. Potter's hands were wide through the palm, his fingers finely formed. Funny how he'd never noticed Potter's hands before…

"Can you check on an Auror named Barnaby for me?" Potter asked, even though he was clearly not as frantic. "He's a newbie, just a kid, really, and I saw him down…"

"I'll check," Draco promised.

"Thank you," Potter murmured. "By the way, do I need to stay like this?" He grimaced, shifting his broad shoulders. Draco frowned. 

"In bed? Yes, Potter…"

"No, on my back." He looked up at him. "I never lay on my back. Can I roll to my side?"

Draco mused for a moment. "I don't see why not." Potter grimaced as he tried to shift over. "Wait, here, let me help you."

Draco made sure the remaining tubes were not tangled, then gripped Potter's shoulders, gently easing him to his side. He tried very hard not to look at the well-shaped arse and long, muscled thighs revealed by the gap in the back of his hospital gown, but he was only human, after all. Realizing he was staring, he pulled the light covers up and over Potter's shoulder. 

Potter sighed gratefully as Draco situated the pillow carefully beneath his head. 

Potter nuzzled into the pillow, and something unfamiliar and tender bloomed in Draco's chest. He went still, startled when he had the almost overwhelming impulse to stroke his hand over Potter's rumpled hair.

"Rest well," Draco managed. "I'll be back after I've completed my rounds."

"Thank you." Potter sounded about half asleep already, and Draco straightened, taking a deep breath before turning toward the door. He couldn't be having any feelings about Potter; not _Potter_. He'd been too busy, too consumed by his residency to even go on a date. That had to be the explanation…

"Malfoy." 

Draco stopped, stiffening before he turned back. "Yes, Potter?"

His eyes were still closed, but a faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. "I don't think I've ever seen a man as beautiful as you," he murmured. "You grew up nice." Moments later his breathing settled into a slow, steady rhythm. 

Draco stared, feeling a bit as if someone had hit him with a stunner.

It was a while before he could convince himself to go back and check on Potter, and he only went when he was reminded his standing with Whylerston was dependent on his treatment of the man's 'star patient'. Still reeling a bit but from Potter's sleepy comment, he wasn't sure how to behave around him now. Did he ignore it? Did he comment? Did he write it off to Potter's drugged state? He was still pretty medicated, even though he'd been conscious...

It was common knowledge in the wizarding world that Potter was gay; Draco heard it from Pansy, who had it from one of her revolving group of gay boys. Apparently the 'man who lived' was a rather regular fixture at a couple of gay bars. And it wasn't like it was the first time someone had told Draco he was beautiful. But to hear it from Potter… For some reason, he'd never felt so wrong footed, or so exposed. It was nearly two hours later when, after giving himself a rough mental shaking, he took a deep breath and went back towards his room. 

He could hear voices from outside of the room and paused.

"I can't believe they put that prat in charge of your care," he heard Ron Weasley say, sounding irritated. Draco knew he should walk away; people who lingered outside of doors rarely heard anything good about themselves. But he couldn't seem to make himself walk away. He waited, biting the corner of his lower lip.

"He fixed my head, Ron," Potter replied, sounding tired. Draco was going to have the floor nurse's arse for letting a patient so newly off of the critical list have visitors. "They wouldn't have let him if he didn't know what he was doing."

"Actually," Hermione Granger said, and Draco rolled his eyes. Lovely; not just another patient but someone from the outside as well. He looked around, irritated. Where was that nurse… "Padma says he's the best Apprentice Healer in their program, and Padma is no slouch." Draco went still, startled. "And apparently their chief of surgery agrees. She heard him tell another Healer that Malfoy was going to give him a run for his money once he graduated."

Whylerston had said that to another Healer? Draco could hardly believe it. But Patil had very nearly told him the same, hadn't she?

"How do we know Malfoy didn't change something when he was fiddling around with Harry's head?" Weasley said earnestly. "How do we know he didn't… plant this idea that Malfoy wasn't so bad?"

"How do we know you didn't fall on your head when you were injured during the raid?" Granger asked archly, and Draco smirked. "Have you _seen_ the man, Ron? I don't find it hard to believe Harry might be willing to forgive a few things."

"Hermione," Ron complained. "Yes, I saw him. I don't see anything so great about him."

"Thank God for that," Potter said, sounding amused. "I'd hate to have to compete with you for his attention."

"Oh, gross," Ron groaned.

"…Nurse!"

Draco stiffened. Whylerston was on the floor, and sounded as if he was about to round a corner. It was buck up and check Potter's vitals, even with a plague of Gryffindor's in the room, or be caught standing in the hall outside of the door. Straightening, he took a deep breath and walked into the room.

He felt Weasley's eyes go to him, and was faintly amused at the red that flooded his cheeks. He wasn't nearly as amused by the narrowing of Granger's eyes, or her keen stare. And he was afraid he was reddening under her regard.

"Well, you're obviously feeling more alert," Draco said, taking the chart from the foot of the bed, then lifting his eyes to study the numbers floating above the head of the bed. He felt Potter's eyes but didn't meet his gaze. What the numbers told him was what he'd already ascertained for himself; Potter was almost obnoxiously healthy. "Has PT been in to see you, yet?" He asked, finally looking into Potter's eyes. The warmth he saw there startled him. 

"Yeah. Put me through some exercises for the arm, range of motion stuff. They said they'd be back later today for another go round."

Draco nodded, fighting for composure, lifting his wand and notating the numbers in Potter's chart. He was more than a little annoyed to find his hand trembling. "I need to check your eyes, I'm afraid." He turned back to Potter. "If I may?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Potter said.

Draco set the chart on the side of the bed then murmured _Lumos_. The tip of his wand lit and Draco brought it up between Potter's green eyes. It was more than a little intimidating to feel Granger and Weasley watching his every move, but he checked Potter's pupils. They were more reactive than they'd been earlier, which spoke to the recovery from the head wound and fewer potions in his system. 

"Your head seems to be fine. I'll have the nurse get you up when your company leaves and we'll see if you're suffering any lingering effects. Dizziness, et cetera."

"Can't you get me up now?" Potter asked, pushing up onto his elbows. "Ron and Hermione won't care, and then we can speed this whole process up."

Remembering what Potter was wearing, or more accurately _not_ wearing under the gown, he blinked rapidly. 

"Potter," he said firmly, stilling him. "I'd remind you that you aren't exactly dressed for company. Particularly not female company?"

"Oh, yeah." Potter looked sheepish as he lay back down. But then his gaze sharpened as he looked up at Draco, and he angled his head slightly. Heat roared up Draco's face and he took a step away, returning the chart to the foot of his bed with more force than was necessary. "I need to finish my rounds. Enjoy your visit. I'll put in an order for PT to get you up on your feet this afternoon. Granger, Weasley." He nodded at each of them, leaving the room as quickly as he could. He got half-way down the hall before he stopped and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.

It didn't help. All he could see on the inside of his eyelids was that perfect, round arse. 

Draco heard Whylerston at the nurses' station and made an immediate decision to report on Potter's condition there, rather than attempting to talk in a room filled with Gryffindors…and that arse.

Draco shook his head to clear it and strode purposefully up to Whylerston. "Sir," Draco said, after waiting to be recognized. 

"Apprentice Healer," Whylerston replied with a nod.

"I've just left Auror Potter's room. His pupils are equal and reactive and he's been through his first round of physical therapy, with a second scheduled for this afternoon. I intend to be present for the therapy and watch as he's allowed out of bed."

Whylerston pulled a chart from the rack on the desk and thumbed through it. Not for the first time, Draco appreciated that all of his notations and comments magically transferred from the room chart to the one kept at the nurses' station. Whylerston's brow furrowed and Draco began to wonder if he'd missed something. 

Finally Whylerston set the chart on the counter. "Is there a reason we're conducting this update in the middle of the hall, rather than in the patient's room?" Whylerston's tone was curious, but the look on his face told Draco he was annoyed.

"Auror Potter has company and I've recently interrupted their visit. I felt perhaps unless you needed to see him immediately, we could check on the other patients on the floor and leave Auror Potter for last." Draco hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

After a pause, Whylerston nodded. "Well, then Apprentice Malfoy I'd suggest you follow me."

Draco breathed a silent sigh of relief and followed his superior down the hall, hoping beyond hope he'd be able to control his emotions when he had to return to Potter's room.

oooOOOooo

Draco was sitting at the nurses' station filling out a chart when Potter came down the hall, dressed in dark jeans and a rather nice jumper. He was flanked by Granger and the Weasel. Draco had been in to see Potter with Whylerston earlier that morning and Whylerston had delivered the news that he'd signed off on Potter's release papers. Knowing how much Potter wanted out of St Mungo's, Draco was a bit surprised that he hadn't bolted out the door before the ink was dry on the parchment. 

Harry stopped at the desk in front of Draco and shuffled a bit. Weasley sighed loudly and Draco heard a muffled smack and the muttered "Ron!" from Granger. He looked up, after schooling his features. "Did you need something, Auror Potter?" Draco asked in his most professional voice. 

"Well, I'm leaving," Potter said, appearing sheepish.

Draco leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "That is the normal procedure once release papers have been signed," he teased. Unable to resist he continued. "In fact I'm quite surprised that you're still here. As vocal as you've been the past few days about being released, I'd have expected you to have wasted no time in leaving."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not a very good patient, so no one would bring me clothes until I'd been released," he said with a wry grin. "They knew I'd bolt. And as you so pleasantly pointed out, hospital wear doesn't leave much to the imagination Even I wouldn't walk about London in one of those gowns."

Draco felt his ears grow warm and his mind flash on the wonderful arse. He schooled his features and arched a brow. "You do realize you're a wizard who could have transfigured yourself something to wear, right?" 

Harry smiled. "Last time I tried that, Kingsley put me on desk duty for a month. At least I've learned to wait to be discharged and for someone to bring me proper clothes. Look, I just wanted to say thanks for patching up my head and everything." He fidgeted a bit and started to speak.

Draco cut him off, not wanting whatever it was Potter was going to say to be said in the middle of _gossip central_. "Just doing my job, Potter. And we all know that head of yours is hard enough to handle a few knocks."

"Hey," Weasley growled. 

Harry turned, but Hermione had already shushed him and was dragging Weasley down the hall. 

"Yeah, no doubt one day one of these bumps might even knock some sense into it," Harry said with a grin. 

Draco stood. "I've got patients to check on. Take care, Potter, and try to not make being here a habit." Draco picked up a chart and walked down the hall and around a corner, convincing himself that it was not disappointment he'd just seen on Potter's face.

oooOOOooo

Draco sat at a table in the tearoom a with cup of rapidly cooling tea at his elbow. Propped next to him was _A Healer's Guide to Magical Bugs and Diseases_. His upcoming round in paediactrics had him already reading some of the texts he'd need to know inside out before that rotation was over. A shadow blocked his light and he looked up prepared to snarl. Instead it took all his strength not to moan just a little. In front of him stood Potter in his full Auror regalia. The red cape and the knee-high black leather boots were enough for Draco to find he needed to shift a bit to make his trousers _comfortable_.

"Am I disturbing you?" Potter asked tentatively.

Draco thought of about fifty ways to answer that, none of which were appropriate for a hospital tearoom but managed, "Just trying to catch up on some studying. I'm still on Casualty rotation, so I rarely find a free minute."

Harry looked nervous. "Mind if I sit for a bit and have a cuppa with you?"

"With me…here…" Draco frowned. "Has one of your team been admitted?" He couldn't for the life of him figure out why anyone would willingly drink the sludge they passed off for tea.

Harry set his mug on the table. "No, nothing like that. I just…well I thought…"

"Merlin, Potter, did that blow to the head eliminate your ability to string words into a proper sentence? There was certainly no sign of it when you were here."

"God," Potter ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what it is about you that reduces me to a stuttering firstie. I command an entire team of Aurors with no problem." 

Draco watched with amusement when pink dotted Potter's cheeks as he sat. 

"I just kind of enjoyed talking to you before and thought we might do it again," Potter muttered. 

Unable to control himself, Draco laughed. "So you'd like me to take your vitals and wave my wand over you?" Now he coloured when the innuendo of what he said hit him.

Harry smiled. "Well we could skip the vitals, but I might be persuaded into some wand waving." And then he winked.

Draco stared, unsure he'd actually seen Potter blink at him, before clearing his throat. "So what actually brings you here, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "Had some time, thought I'd stop by for my break and see if I could convince you to take a break and chat. And lucky me…you were already here."

"Well, surreal as this has been," Draco said draining his mug and closing his book, "my break is over and I have rounds with Whylerston in ten minutes. Which leaves me just about enough time for that excuse of a lift to get me downstairs."

"Maybe next time you'll just be starting your break, rather than ending it," Harry said with a smile.

"There'll be a next time?" Draco couldn't hide his surprise.

"Count on it." Harry stood and left his tea, his hand casually on the small of Draco's back as he accompanied him to the lift. Draco didn't know how to gracefully duck away, so he didn't pull from Potter's touch. In truth, he didn't want to. They stood outside the doors to the lift and when they opened, Draco walked in, going to the back and leaning against the rail. The car wasn't empty, and the other occupants shot curious looks between Draco and Potter. Potter smiled at him as the doors slid closed, every inch an Auror captain, and every inch sexy as hell.

Draco would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't looking forward to the _next time_.

True to his word, Potter showed up twice in the next three weeks in time for Draco's break. Draco wasn't sure how he managed it, but it was enjoyable to talk to someone besides Patil during his brief time away from patients. And of course, the hospital being what it was, the tattle about him and Potter had reached into the staff room and the lounge. He was surprisingly undisturbed by the teasing he received.

"Hard to resist a man in uniform," Patil said in passing, and Draco could only agree. It was damned hard, he thought. Lots of things were hard when Potter was around. He smirked at his own juvenile sense of humor, but Potter in that cape and those boots had become something of a fixation.

It was Friday and he'd just completed rounds with Whylerston, who either didn't know about the gossip or didn't care, for which Draco was extremely grateful. He took a seat furthest from the tearoom door, his tea steeping as he read up on Dragon Pox in children between the ages of 2 and 9, when it was least dangerous. It was much more serious in new-borns and children of school age, and almost always fatal in adults over the age of ninety. He was so engrossed he didn't notice the way the usual mumble of conversation hushed until it was so quiet around him you could have heard a pin drop. He looked up, disconcerted, only to see Potter standing just inside the tearoom doors. He was wearing Auror dress robes, and Draco felt his mouth go dry.

The red and black robes weren't really robes at all, but a short red regimental jacket, a red cape with black satin lining and snug black trousers tucked into the top of those damned boots. There was gold braid on his shoulders and more on his cuffs. But there was more; Potter sported no stubble today, and his disreputable hair actually looked as if it had been styled. He was so glamorous Draco almost found it irritating. 

Potter spotted him and headed in his direction, smiling slowly as he approached. Gods, Draco felt his heart speed up and had a fleeting thought of yanking that spiffy uniform right off of his very fit body.

"Bit over-dressed for the tearoom, don't you think?" Draco said drily as Potter pulled out a chair.

"Graduation for the new cadets," he said. "Any time the Minister is going to be in the room, we have to put on these ridiculous get-ups."

"They certainly do make an impression. You look a bit as if you belong in the Queen's band."

Potter snorted. "Thanks so much. Just the impression I'm sure the designer was attempting to make." 

A mug and a scone floated over and landed in front of him, and Draco scowled. "So now you don't even need to stand in line?"

Potter waved to the older lady at the til. "She likes me."

Draco's lips quirked. "Charming old ladies a talent of yours, Potter?"

"I charm lots of people," Potter said, smirking slightly and looking at Draco through the thick veil of his lashes as he doctored his tea liberally with cream and sugar. Draco watched him, shaking his head.

"Why don't you just order hot chocolate?"

Potter huffed, but looked amused. "Grown-ups don't drink hot chocolate, Healer Malfoy. This is a grown up drink."

"That's a sugary sludge with a hint of Earl Grey."

"Shut up," Potter said, but he was smiling. The expression was very… alluring. He lifted his cup and took a drink, eyes smiling at Draco from across the table. It dawned on him in that moment that he wasn't immune to Potter's charm. 

"Why are you here, Potter?" he asked, truly wanting to know what his motivation was. Potter arched an expressive brow.

"To see you, of course."

"Not to be seen in all your mighty Auror glory?"

Instead of looking irritated, Potter laughed. Damn him.

"What, you don't like it?" He looked around the room, bringing Draco's attention to just how many people were staring at them. "I think it looks like it was designed by a mad drag queen, but other people seem to like it. I certainly seem to get a lot of attention when I wear it."

Draco laughed. "Ah, now there's that charming ego I remember." Draco closed his book. "And unfortunately, duty calls." He prepared to stand, and Potter reached across the table and grabbed his hand. Draco stared at the warm, square hand on top of his. 

"So, another date tomorrow?" Potter asked, the corner of his mouth lifting. Draco laughed.

"Potter, the tearoom where I work is not a date."

"Would you go out on a proper date with me if I asked?"

Draco lifted his gaze to his eyes. "A date? I barely have time for a cuppa and a biscuit, Potter. My schedule is insane…"

"I happen to know you have to have at least one day off in every fourteen, Healer."

Draco frowned, irritated. "Who have you been talking to?"

"Someone who knows you have to have one day off in every fourteen." Potter's eyes were shining, and waiting. 

"And you think I want to spend my one night off… with you?"

Potter stared at him, some of his bravado fading. "I hope you do," he said finally. His voice was so soft Draco knew the other tables, no matter how they strained, couldn't hear him. "I'd really like to take you out, and I hope you'd like to go with me." His eyes were wide behind the lenses of his glasses, and filled with earnestness and hope.

It was the hope that did Draco in. 

"I'll think about it," he said softly. 

The smile that spread over Potter's face was delighted, dimples popping near his mouth. They made a lovely little shiver slip down Draco's spine. He hadn't noticed until recently that the damned man even had dimples. 

He stood and picked up his books, wondering if he should just detour to the mental maladies ward and have his head examined for even considering dating Potter.

oooOOOooo

Draco stepped outside for the first time in what felt like days. Ever since the case with Potter, Whylerston treated him like his own personal surgical associate. It was flattering, especially considering how the other apprentices reacted to it. Draco had never been the most popular student in his year, something that was a continuation of Hogwarts. Now, his fellow apprentices pretty much despised him, only they didn't dare say so. Draco found it hilarious. 

He also found the demands on his time exhausting. He was supposed to have that twenty four hours every fourteen days, but that was pretty much ignored. He tried to remember as he leaned against the wall outside of the rear entrance. He thought perhaps he'd had fourteen hours off two weeks before, but he couldn't be sure. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall, dying for a cigarette even though he'd quit smoking two years before.

He heard the flapping of large wings, rapidly growing closer, and Draco opened his eyes, preparing to duck. Instead he stopped and stared at the bird who hovered over his head. He'd have sworn that the golden eyes were staring right at him from the snowy white face, and as he stared a scroll was dropped on his head. He caught it instinctively before it hit the ground, then watched the bird turn and fly away. It looked just like the beautiful bird Potter had when they were in school, but he doubted he had another. Although, it would be just like the man; he had the same friends he'd had forever. Why wouldn't he have a bird just like the one he'd had then? Fingers trembling a bit in anticipation, Draco broke the seal on the back of the parchment.

" _Draco,_ it began in a strong, slanted hand, _"I know you didn't consider the hour in the cafeteria as a ‘date', so I'd like to ask you out. Let me clarify; yes, I'd like to date you. Please respond with your next available day off so I can astonish you with my good taste. H. Potter._

In spite of himself, Draco smiled. The man had certainly acquired a veneer of self-confidence from somewhere. He went back inside to answer.

Unfortunately, the walk to the St Mungo's Owlery gave him an opportunity for second thoughts. How ethical was it, for him to date a patient? Knowing what his instructors and Whylerston would make of it, even though he felt a swamping of disappointment, Draco's answer was short, but he hoped not rude. And when had he started worrying about being rude to _Potter_? Clearly, his decision was the right one. 

_Potter_ , he wrote. _Flattered as I am by the charming invitation, I don't believe it's ethical for me to date a patient. D. Malfoy._

There, he thought. Short, to the point, final. He sent it via a hospital owl then went back to work, pushing away his disappointment.

He was barely into rounds, standing near the back of his class as the Master Healer in charge of paediatrics carefully withdrew a magic bean from a toddler's nose. He was new to this rotation, and as he was expected to keep up with his new assignment and Whylerston's growing demands, he was paying keen attention. When he felt a tug on the sleeve of his robes, he looked over in irritation to find a man he'd never seen before at his elbow.

"You Malfoy?" he asked without lowering his voice. The other apprentices turned and glared, and he tugged the man a few feet away.

"Lower your voice," he hissed. "Who are you and what do you want?"

The man glared. "I'm Woodston, chief owl keeper," he answered. "And there's been a ruddy white bird flapping around my ears for the past quarter hour. It delivered this," he thrust another scroll into Draco's hand, "and was apparently told to stay and pester the fuck out of me until I delivered it. I'd appreciate it if you'd tell your girlfriend I have better things to do than fight off a stupid _owl_." He turned and stomped away, and Draco watched him go, then looked down at the scroll in his hand. He looked over to see that his class had moved on to another child down the ward, and he opened the scroll quickly.

 _Healer Malfoy,_ it began in Potter's distinctive scrawl, _you are no longer my Healer. Now that your ethical concerns are out of the way, when shall I fetch you? H. Potter._

Draco pursed his lips. He wanted to be irritated by the high handed tone, and yet there was just something about a man who was so bloody persistent…

He sighed and looked back at the group of Healers, who'd moved even further away. Oh, well, hopefully the paediatric Healer thought it was another of Whylerston's summons'. And if he didn't, he'd figure out a way to deal with it later. Fortunately, he was still top of his class. He turned and made his way to the nearby nurses' station, noticing Nurse Kinsey standing there.

"Have you a quill?" he whispered. She gave him a slight smile and pulled a self-inking quill from her front pocket. Draco added his note to the bottom of Potter's.

_"Fine. I'm off this Saturday. I anticipate being astonished that you have any taste at all. D.Malfoy."_

He added his signature with a flourish, then glanced again at his class. If he didn't catch up now he never would, but he needed this sent so that Potter wouldn't make the Owlery keep any angrier. Apparently he wasn't a man who liked to wait.

"Here, I'll send it," Kinsey said, taking back her quill, then taking the parchment from Draco's hand. He looked at her, startled. "Everyone deserves a life outside of this place, Healer Malfoy. Go on before they send out a search party."

"Oh, all right," Draco said, feeling his face heat. "It goes to…"

Kinsey winked at him. "I know where it goes. He's a hero, but he isn't subtle." She walked away and Draco watched her, then turned and hurried to catch his group before they left the ward.

oooOOOooo

Draco was nervous, and it irritated him. He hadn't been nervous before a date in… well, years, he supposed. He didn't have time for dating now, he reminded himself. And he shouldn't be heading to meet Potter. He needed to be concentrating on his studies, not on a prat that was entirely too full of himself. He wouldn't be there at all if he hadn't had an owl from Pansy that afternoon. The high-handed bint.

He'd actually taken out his quill and a piece of parchment to cancel, and was trying to figure out how to word it when a rapping sounded on the window behind him. He turned, frowning. There were only two people who knew where his walk up flat a block from St Mungo's even was, and of the two he only anticipated mail from his mother. He opened the window in surprise when he recognized Pansy's black eagle owl; it was the first time in ages she'd sent him anything.

"Mordred," he said, stepping aside so the evil creature could enter. It was fitting he was named after a vicious bastard; he was obnoxious, and Draco kept his fingers well out of the way. The bird dropped the parchment and sailed out through the window, far too good for Draco's owl treats.

"Arsehole," he muttered at its disappearing form, then opened Pansy's missive. There wasn't even a salutation.

_Don't you dare cancel this date. I know where you live, I know where you work, and I know the connection to your mother's Floo. Don't make me come after you, and don't be a damned tit; he might surprise you, and you might get a chance to have a fucking LIFE!_

Draco exhaled explosively, balling the note up and throwing it across the room. Bloody, blasted, interfering woman. But he didn't cancel, either.

He was to meet Potter at the street just outside of the main entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and he walked towards the rendezvous point, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. It was cold, and he wished he'd remembered to grab a hat on the way out his door. 

There were lots of people on the sidewalk, and he didn't spot Potter until he was nearly on top of him. Fortunately there were a few feet between them, giving him just enough time to compose himself so he didn't look a complete berk. It was difficult; Potter looked amazing.

He was wearing fitted black denims and a dark jumper, a black leather motorcycle jacket over the top. His hair was rumpled but not the way it had been when he was younger; now it was more artful, intentionally mussed and he was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, one booted foot braced on the bricks at his back. He looked lean and strong and edible, and Draco swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Uhm, hello," he said, and Potter looked up from where he'd been looking at the street. He straightened away from the wall with a slow smile.

"Hello." He made a leisurely perusal of Draco from his feet to his face. He'd taken time to dress nicely, wearing grey trousers with narrow black boots, and a heavy winter white sweater under a long black wool overcoat. There was as pale blue scarf around his throat, but it was more for looks than for warmth. He waited while Potter looked him over, more nervous than he could remember being in a long time. "You look great," he said finally.

"Thank you." Draco managed to cut himself off before he said, ‘you, too.' It wouldn't do to give too much away at the start of the evening. Although from the amused quirk of his lips, Potter was reading his mind. 

Potter gestured toward the corner. "Shall we?" Draco followed him, falling into step beside him. "So, how goes the life of a Healer?"

Draco shrugged. "Brutal hours, egotistical Master Healers, mind numbing study requirements. You know, the usual." Potter chuckled. "How goes the life of a Lead Auror?"

"Brutal hours, egotistical politicians, mind numbing paperwork." He shot Draco a grin, his teeth very white in the dim light. "You know, the usual."

"Who would have ever guessed we'd have so much in common?" Draco quipped. They turned another corner into an alley, and Draco hesitated for a moment. "Where are we going?"

"The transportation is back here," Potter replied with another smile. He slipped his arm through Draco's. "Don't worry; I'll protect you."

Draco shot him a narrow-eyed look even as he thought, ‘yeah, but who'll protect me from you?'

The dim streetlights shone on something draped with gleaming chrome, and Draco realized he was staring at a Muggle motorbike. He knew nothing about them, but even sitting still this one looked sleek and shiny and dangerous. Potter stopped beside it, taking one black helmet off of the seat and holding it out.

"We're going on that?" Draco asked, studying it. Potter laughed.

"Don't sound so excited," he quipped. "It's perfectly safe, I promise. Used to belong to my godfather, but I've made some revisions. Took off the side car, replaced the engine." He grinned and dimples popped beside his mouth. "It's wicked fast."

"We can't just take the tube?" Draco said, resigned, putting the helmet on his head, despairing what his hair would look like when they got where they were going. 

"Nope, ‘fraid not." Potter stepped close, taking the strap from Draco's hands and fastening it beneath his chin. He was close enough that Draco could see the dark stubble on his chin, and the light in his shadowed green eyes. "I should ask if you're in a hurry tonight. The ride could take a while."

Draco looked at the bike skeptically. "And it's safe?"

Potter laughed. "I told you. It's perfectly safe. I've ridden it as far as Romania."

Draco inhaled and then exhaled loudly. "I've no other plans this evening."

Potter's grin was bright. "Brilliant," he said. "Besides, it's a perfect excuse to get your arms around me." 

Draco blinked, wondering where his usual smooth aplomb had deserted him to. All he could manage to do was watch Potter easily pull the helmet onto his head, fastening it beneath his square chin. He straddled the powerful looking machine, starting it by shoving his heel into a pedal on the side. It roared to life, the sound of the engine rumbling like a dragon in the dark. Potter patted the seat behind him, watching Draco with that damned little amused smile on his face. Almost defiantly, Draco climbed onto the seat behind him. 

"Hang on," Potter called.

Draco was determined not to wrap his arms around Potter's waist. That was, until Potter gunned the bike and took off almost straight up. He grabbed Potter's slender waist with a squeak, then pinched Potter's thigh when he felt the bloody man chuckle under his palms.

It was impossible to talk; the bike was too loud, and the roar of the wind was deafening. But when Draco saw them flying over what he was certain was the black waters of the Thames, he leaned closer against Potter's back. 

"Where are we going?" he shouted against the side of Potter's helmet.

"It's a surprise," he shouted back. "Just relax and enjoy the view."

Draco had flown from London to the French countryside more times than he could count. Once when he'd been fifteen and reckless, and his father had applied a stinging hex vicious enough he'd been unable to sit on anything, let alone a broom, for a week. He'd made the trip many times since on a broom. There was something really liberating about being a passenger, though, even on the Muggle thing Potter had somehow managed to make fly. He tightened his arms around the slender waist and rested his cheek against the back of Potter's shoulder, staring down into the black water until they were over the Thames, then over land beyond, the lights like scattered jewels in the darkness. 

It was a chilly trip, and Draco had left his gloves on his kitchen counter at home. His hands and nose felt like ice; that was until Potter grabbed his hands one at a time, keeping one hand on the handle bars, and slipped them into the pockets of his jacket. Draco was going to complain, until the warmth of Potter's body slid over his fingers. He sighed and gripped Potter's flat stomach, turning his face into the back of neck, the thought to warm his face. Potter's scent overwhelmed him, though, and Draco felt something unfurl low in his stomach. The man smelled of soap, and shampoo, and sandalwood. It made Draco's cock twitch and he angled his hips back slightly; the last thing he needed was to get hard while his groin was pressed into Potter's arse. 

They flew for what felt like a very long time. Draco turned his head finally to study the land below him, and with a lurch realized where he was when he saw the Eiffel Tower lit up in all of its glory.

He felt the bike's speed begin to slow and after crossing a good section of the city, Draco realized they were going to be back on the ground soon. About to ask about Muggles seeing them, Draco felt a strong _Disillusionment Charm_ roll over him like warm water. A moment later he realized the motorcycle wasn't making any noise. They touched down smoothly and rolled to a small alley behind what Draco recognized as l'Opéra de Paris. Before he could speak, Draco felt the disillusionment charm lift and the bike roared loudly. Potter rolled into the street and took off again. 

Although they weren't moving nearly as fast as in the air, somehow this felt much more dangerous to Draco. They drove down the Rue de la Roquette to the Rue de Lappe and Draco had a suspicion as to their destination. When they stopped in front of Chez Paul, Draco nearly leapt off the motorcycle. 

Draco pulled the helmet off his head and turned to Harry. "This is my favourite restaurant in Paris. How did you know?"

Harry removed his own helmet and turning to shield himself from any prying eyes, he quickly shrunk them both before putting them in his pocket. 

He smiled at Draco. "I may have contacted your mother to find out." He looked uncertain. "I hope you don't mind."

Draco stared at him in startled wonder. "Actually I'm a bit impressed that you contacted my mother. Not many people would brave Narcissa Malfoy to find out where her son likes to dine."

Harry laughed. "That's me; brave Gryffindor Potter. Come on, we have a reservation and I'm pretty sure the _Harry Potter_ card won't work twice."

They entered the restaurant and were quickly seated at a private table for two in a small alcove off the main dining room. Draco sat, knowing this table was reserved for exclusive clientele. 

After the waiter had taken their drink orders, Draco turned to Harry. "You really did pull the _Potter card_ didn't you?"

Harry blushed. "Actually your mother did. I don't speak a word of French so she made the reservations for us." He hesitated for a minute. "She also ordered our meal. I sort of know what she asked for, but she told me it would be easier this way." He reached across the table and took Draco's hand. "Are you upset?"

Draco stared at him for a minute, speechless. No one had ever taken that much care to be sure he had everything he wanted on a date. Not to mention the fact that Potter had contacted his mother and allowed her to help him. Something swelled in his heart and Draco knew this was different from other dates. Potter, no…Harry was different from other men he'd seen.

"Actually," Draco said shaking his head. "I'm very, very flattered." He gave Harry's hand a squeeze. 

During dinner they talked about their jobs and friends. By the time they were eating their exquisite chocolate mousse, Draco had admitted he nearly cancelled until Pansy threatened him. 

Harry took a sip of his wine and Draco was afraid he'd insulted him. Before he could apologize, Harry grinned. "Hermione threatened to come to St Mungo's herself and tell you I was interested before I got my nerve up that first visit." 

Draco shook his head. "I wouldn't have thought you had an indecisive bone in your body," he said, a grin threatening. "Your appearances in the St Mungo's tearoom have become legend."

It was hard to tell in the candlelight, but he thought Harry blushed. "I hope you don't mind that they're talking about you."

"Harry, they always talk about me. It's actually sort of nice that it's because of you and not…" He broke off, shrugging one shoulder awkwardly. 

"You'll put all that old baggage to rest," Potter said, reaching across the small table to squeeze his hand. "You're a brilliant Healer, and everyone will know it. The rest will matter less and less as time goes by." He stopped and stroked the back of Draco's hand with is thumb. "Are you aware that you just called me Harry?"

Now it was Draco's turn to blush. "Yes," he said, turning his hand until they were palm to palm, fingers linked. "I think after tonight insisting on calling you Potter would just be…silly. And I hope you're right about the gossip. I'd love to be known for something besides my father's terrible taste in friends or my mother's mad relatives."

Potter laughed. "That's an original way to put it."

Draco smiled.

In spite of the fact that he was truly enjoying himself, it wasn't long after the excellent meal that Draco could feel his energy flagging. He tried to hide an enormous yawn, but Harry wasn't fooled.

"I'm so sorry," Draco apologised. "I don't get a lot of sleep these days and I probably shouldn't have had that second glass of Bordeaux." 

"It's fine," Harry replied. "I'll get the cheque and we can go."

Draco stopped him. "I really am having a nice time. Maybe a walk – to clear my head a bit."

oooOOOooo

It was even colder when they left the restaurant than it had been before, and Draco found he really wasn't looking forward to the chilly two hour ride across the channel, in spite of the fact that he'd get to cuddle up to Potter's broad back. As if he was reading his mind, Harry placed his palm in the middle of Draco's lower back, taking him down an alley Draco knew led to an international Apparition point. He glanced over at Harry, frowning slightly. 

"Aren't we taking the motorbike back?"

Harry shook his head with a soft smile. "It's too cold, and you're too tired. I'm not willing to take the risk of you dozing off and ending up in the channel."

Draco would have ordinarily made a snarky comment, but he found Harry's thoughtfulness took away his desire to make one. He was concerned about the motorcycle, though. He didn't want Harry leaving it behind on his account. "But what about…"

"The bike is charmed to find its way home," he said, as if reading Draco's mind. "Don't worry about it." He stepped closer, slipping his arm around Draco's waist. "I hope this is okay…"

Draco looked over into Harry's face, searching for even a lingering whisper of ridicule, but there wasn't any. Just the soft, melting smile that had made Draco feel warm all through dinner. 

"It's fine," Draco said, finding it was true. "I'm just sorry my insane schedule had me nearly dozing off at the table when you went to so much trouble."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said gently. "You work hard, and they don't give you nearly enough time off."

"You know," Draco said thoughtfully, "that never really bothered me…" He looked over and met Harry's watchful gaze, "until tonight."

They walked slowly after that, leaning in to one another, but inevitably they arrived at the apparition point. Draco was going to be sorry for the loss of Potter's warmth, even if they did side-along. The Potter turned to him, and pulled him into an embrace.

"Here's the true benefit of Apparition," he said, his eyes dropping to Draco's lips. "I get to hold you. So, uhm," his eyes came back up to Draco's eyes. "Where are we going?"

"I live about a block from St Mungo's in the flats just next to the corner."

"I know where that is. Okay," Harry smiled. "Hang on tight."

Draco returned the smile. "I can do that."

Draco wrapped his arms around the strong body, loving the feel of the lithe muscles beneath his palms, the hard chest pressed against his. Harry looked into his eyes, and Draco felt his feet leave the ground. He clenched his eyes closed instinctively, clutching the black leather jacket, and he felt the arms around him tighten, holding him close. 

It took several seconds before Draco felt his feet settle gently on the ground again. He blinked his eyes open to find himself standing on the deserted street in front of his building. There was never much foot traffic this time of night; in Draco's experience most people floo'd straight into the Emergency department at the hospital after hours. He was glad there was no one about; Harry took his chin gently in his hand and was staring into his eyes again, angling his head. Draco hoped he was about to be kissed, and thoroughly.

He wasn't disappointed. Harry's lips settled on his, kissing him tenderly. He eased back after a moment and looked into Draco's eyes, searching. He apparently found what he was looking for, and when he leaned in again the kiss was neither short nor tender. It was searching, and passionate, and when his tongue slipped along the seam of Draco's lips, he opened his mouth, knees going a bit weak when Harry pulled him closer. Harry's knee slipped between Draco's long legs and when his thigh brushed Draco's balls, he gasped into Harry's mouth. Their lips parted, and Harry pulled back, his eyes lingering on Draco's face. His pupils looked blown, only a slender rim of green around the black center, and Draco wondered if his looked the same. 

"I… think that's about all we should do on the street," Harry murmured, sounding as winded as Draco felt. 

He glanced toward his flat, but then felt a sinking in his chest. He had to report for rounds at six, and it was already after midnight. And he didn't dare show up unable to treat patients. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'd love to invite you in, but…"

"No, it's okay," Harry said with a slight smile. "I understand." He kissed Draco again fleetingly, then dropped his arms. It took a moment longer before Draco did the same. "Is it too early to ask you out again?"

Draco couldn't stop the smile that spread shyly over his lips. "Same time, two weeks from now?"

Harry looked thoughtful. "How about we start with lunch next time? Give ourselves a bit more time?"

Draco nodded. "Good plan. I'll see you then, I guess."

"Oh, no," Harry said. "You aren't blowing off our tearoom trysts that easily, Healer."

Draco bit his lip to stop what he feared would be a ridiculous, sappy smile. "Well, or course not, Auror. See you…?"

"When you least expect it," Harry provided. Now Draco did laugh. 

"I look forward to it." 

He backed toward his building, then turned to go into the manky lobby, hoping when he finally did get Harry into his place he'd be too preoccupied with getting laid to notice how ratty it was. He paused at the base of the stairs and looked once more through the glass door, waving when he saw him still standing there, his hands deep in his jacket pockets, a slight smile on his face. He returned the wave, and Draco rushed up the stairs, hoping to catch a glimpse of him as he walked away. If he didn't Apparate first. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so giddy.

Draco burst through the door of his flat and over to the window. Harry was just walking away and Draco stood admiring the view. He had it bad but he didn't care. For the first time in his life he wasn't worried about what other people thought. Draco leaned against the window frame and smiled. It wasn't like they were moving in together, for Merlin's sake, but who knew…that might come in time.

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made. [When I compliment you, I compliment myself](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4756706) belongs to digthewriter.
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